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Connecticut Woodlands

July 23, 2017

Mold          

 

On tree trunks and branches  

such mold may be seen                                

as to render the forest                                 

a hand-painted green                              

 

by a mythical                                              

mischievous elf or wood sprite                                                               

as base-coat for winter’s                                     

fine icicle white               

 

so we may, as he does,    

make merry with cold,

remember the green,

and never grow old.


 

Rear Windows

 

When I look out back

at the nearby woods

 

I see back into a time

for centuries unchanged

 

teeming with beings

to each other attuned

 

and by electronics

unrearranged.

 

 

Springtime Mythology

 

Renewal comes when daffodils

spring up from the ground,

forsythias burst to blossom

and azaleas all abound,

 

reviving ancient sagas  

of Orpheus here above

leading Eurydice up from Hades

not by bravery but by love.


 

Sounds of Spring

 

Woodpecker drumming on a hollow log.

Bullfrog humming in a woodland bog.

 

Sounds tumble through the centuries

by our forebears heard

 

bringing them into our hearts

without need to say a word.

 

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